How Long I Have Waited
by Sunny33
Summary: Four years, that's how long Dean's been searching for Sam. This could be him? Or just another nobody with Sam's name? Sad Sam and Angsty Dean. Will be three chapters at most. Now COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys, well, I wonder what y'all think about this one? It's been rattling around my brain for a few days, and I thought I'd put up the first chapter just to see if there'd be any reaction to it. I don't tend to read looong fics, and so I don't write them either. This'll tie up in three chapters at the most.

It's hard to say when this story could be set – if it was an episode it would definitely be a stand alone. Just suspend reality for a beat while you read it. See what you think.

PS: And hey, much love to the peeps who have taken the time to review my other efforts, and saving my work to their 'faves' and stuff. Much appreciated.

**How Long I Have Waited**

Dean had already seen the State Trooper on his first pass, and knew he'd be back. He didn't think it would be that quick though. He watched the man step out of his car, watched him pull at his belt and straighten his hat, before walking slowly towards the Impala. Extending his arm, Dean wound down the window.

"Good morning to ya, Sir." The Troopers eyes sketched the inside of the car as he spoke.

"Morning."

"Seen you restin' up a while back. You headin' into town now?" He had a kindly face. More concern than duty.

"Yeah. Suddenly felt tired and thought I should stop and rest. " Dean suppressed a yawn and moved to sit up. "Somewhere up ahead I can get some breakfast?"

The Trooper smiled. "Sure. Margo at Dillinger's Diner'll get you fixed up in no time. She cooks a mean egg and ham wrap and no mistake." The Trooper watched Dean reach for the ignition. "You staying with family in Sunningdale?"

Dean looked up at the officer, searching his expression, his eyes, trying to guage this man's character.

"No, sir. Actually, I'm...I'm looking for someone living near here, perhaps you'd recognise the name?"

"Uh-huh." The Troopers smile faded somewhat.

"Ever heard of a...a Sam Winchester livin' around these parts?" He maintained eye contact with the Trooper, willing him to say that he did. In fact, not only did he know him, he was just speaking to him, why, only five minutes ago, and if Dean just took the first turning on the left, well, Sam would be standing there, just waiting for him. The Trooper's eyes flicked across the dashboard for a beat. And then he scratched his head moving his hat as he did so.

"Well, sure, I know that name. Sam Winchester's well known round this area. " The Trooper wasn't smiling now, in fact he looked troubled. "Um...I gotta say though, he hasn't been himself lately and he doesn't take too kindly to strangers."

Dean heard himself exhaling. Well, whaddaya know. Bobby had been right. His mind fought for control over the hundreds of questions he wanted to ask the Trooper, but he maintained his composure. Just like last time. He cleared his throat.

"Really?" Dean drew his hand back from the ignition. "In...in Sunningdale?"

"Hell, no. He lives up at Carter's Farm. He's been there a while now." The Trooper repositioned his hat, tugged at his belt once more. "I don't mean to pry, son, but...does Sam know you at all?"

Dean grinned up at the Trooper. "Well, that's what I'm looking to find out, officer. " The Trooper half smiled at this, encouraged by Deans sudden enthusiasm, but confused by such an ambiguous reply.

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Dean clamped the phone to his ear.

"I gotta say, Bobby, I nearly swallowed my tongue when he said, yes. " Dean squinted at the sign up ahead. The Troopers car sped off into the distance, the Trooper's hand waving as it did so. Dean lifted his hand off the wheel in reply.

"Did he say how old this Sam Winchester was?" Bobby questioned. "The last one was only 6 weeks old, remember?" Oh, Dean remembered. He remembered his face falling at the sight of Sam Winchester. Muelling and struggling against the blanket his proud father had wrapped him in. His Asian mother looking over the baby with love and pride. All Deans hopes on the floor once more.

"No, I didn't. He did say this Sam had lived up at the farm for a while though. Kinda rules out a juvenile, I reckon."

"Four years is hardly a while, Dean," Bobby stated flatly.

And he was right. It was all subjective though. Four years without Sam had been a while to Dean. An eternity. On the morning Sam had disappeared, he'd left his phone on the bed. There had been definite signs of a struggle, of chaos and fear. A half opened lap top, on it's side. One of Sam's shoes orphaned and lying by the door. And whatever it was that had Sam, was something supernatural and something good at covering its tracks. Over the months Dean and Bobby had fanned out their search from the motel, until nearly four years later, they were now combing the mid west. All the police departments and state offices Dean had approached had Sam's details. None had answers though. Not for Dean. Then Bobby found a spell. Specific and precise. It had to be. Because all they had was his name. Nothing else.

"It's worth a shot though, isn't it?" Dean asked bleakly. He noted the silence from Bobby's end.

"Yeah. Of course it is, son," Bobby finally replied. Said with a dash of encouragement. "Call me as soon as you know," He added.

Dean closed his phone and turned the wheels of the Impala onto the dirt road that lead up to Carter's Farm. Like last time, his mouth had dried and his heart was already thumping an energetic beat. He drew in a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself. This could be nothing. This could be another nobody. A nobody with Sam Winchester's name.

At last, in the distance, beside an old leathered tree, Dean could see what looked like a farm house. A beautiful sprawling, traditional structure, set in scenic grounds, with chickens pecking and bobbing away from the growl the Impala made as it passed them. A mill pond sat shimmering in the morning light, a black horse lifted it's head to watch the black car make it's way up the gentle incline towards the house. This was a beautiful place to live. Whoever this Sam Winchester was, he was lucky.

The door gave it's accustomed groan as Dean stepped out of the car. He almost regretted closing the door, for the noise it made had surely disturbed the peace and tranquillity of the place. He stood for a moment, collecting himself. An internal meditation fighting his urge to run up the steps of the house and barge his way into the front door. He could do this. He had done it before. This could be nothing, he reminded himself. This could be nothing.

As Dean turned his head to look back down the road, he thought he could hear someone singing. No, humming. A child's humming. An absent minded tune that a child might hum while playing. And then he saw her...a little girl of about 6yrs old, riding a bike and humming to herself. She was beautiful. Bright ginger hair against a pale skin and bright eyes focussing on the road ahead of her front wheel. When she got to Dean, she stopped and raised her head against the bright sunshine that made her squint.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi," Dean smiled. "Um...are your parents home?" Dean glanced up at the house, expecting them to be there, at the window, or on the verandah already. But there was no one.

"Yeah." She answered slowly. "They're with GW," she drawled.

"In the house?"

"Yup," she maneovered the bicycle, jumped onto the pedals again, and pushed herself off from her standing position. Dean watched her pedal past him, the front wheel wobbling under the stones on the dirt path. "Should I just go on up?" he asked after her.

"Yup," she said, her little legs working faster at the pedals.

Dean shook his head, and made his way towards the front door.

Stepping inside, the house already smelt musty with heat. Signs of family life were littered all around the lounge. A modern lounge, in a traditional farm house. The TV was on, but the sound was turned off. No one was watching it. A doll lay, unloved and undressed on the sofa. A pile of children's books piled in a heap by the wall. An old persons walker stood parked by the kitchen door. A woman's cardigan draped over the back of the sofa.

"Hello!" he called. His voice seemed to boom out into the silence of the house. From a back room he could hear some movement. He moved his position to get a better look through to the back hall. Someone was coming. He licked his lips and focussed on the hallway.

"Oh, Hi," she said, " I'm sorry, we didn't hear you knocking,". A woman in her 50's, Dean guessed. A friendly face, homely, cheerful in her demeanor he thought. She approached the sofa and lifted the cardigan. "Are you from the pharmacy?" she asked.

"Uh...no. I'm not." He replied. Her face fell.

"Oh. OK. Then, how can I help you?" She turned to face him.

"Um...State Trooper Oliver gave me this address...I'm... looking for someone, who may live or work here, um..." Dean felt himself wither at her gaze. She seemed to bore right into him, in her quest to find out his reason for being in her house. He realised his normal confidence had gone and he could hear himself almost stutter in his attempts to get the words out. She crossed her arms and turned her head slightly.

"I'm sorry, I don't think you gave me your name...did you?" Dean felt a sudden wave of impatience wash over him now. It wasn't his name that was important...if she'd just let him finish.

"No, I'm...I'm sorry, I didn't. Uh...my name is Dean...and I'm looking for Sam...Sam Winchester? Does anyone with that name live or work on this farm, ma'am?"

The change in her expression was almost immediate, the slight intake of breath audible in the stark silence of the room. She swallowed and appeared to regain her composure, all the while her eyes never leaving Dean's face. Dean could hardly breath with anticipation. She cleared her throat to speak.

"You're name is...Dean?" she almost whispered. "Dean Winchester?"

"Yes," he said. Confidence growing now. His eyes flicked towards the back hall and then back to her face. Willing her to say something else. To explain this reaction she was having. Instead, she approached him. Taking his hand and gently, softly pulling him towards her as she walked towards the back hall way.

"Come with me," she whispered, her eyes almost pleading his presence. His legs working themselves towards the hall way, not knowing where he was going or what he was walking into. His mind screamed a thousand warnings at him. This was insane. Ask more questions, hold back a moment, stop walking, stop allowing this to happen. But none of it, none of it made him pull back from her gentle grasp of his hand as she led him through to a back bedroom.

She opened a door, and led him into a bright, airy bedroom, dominated by a huge wooden king sized bed, it's covers bright and welcoming. In it lay an old man, his family seated beside him. A son, around the same age as the woman, his dark hair greying at each temple. Another man, in his 30's twisted around in his chair to look back at Dean with a saddened expression. A young girl, a teenager, her hand holding the old man's hand, as she stroked his forearm. She too looked back at Dean and the woman. It was a beautiful scene. Like a painting on a wall. An old and sickly man, with his family in attendance. A loving, last embrace of history and family and tradition and...love.

Dean pulled his hand away from the woman. His eyes fixed on the scene before him.

"I'm sorry...I, I can see that this isn't –" Dean began. This was just wrong. He shouldn't be here. It wasn't right. This was a family in crisis, with a sick and old family member, this was no place for a stranger. He had to leave. Leave now.

"Dean," the woman looked back at him. "Dean," she placed a hand on his arm. A gentle touch, making Dean look at her once more. "This is Sam," she said softly, looking back at the old man in the bed. "This is Sam Winchester." Dean swallowed hard.

"I...can see that...and I'm sorry, it's...it's not him, and I should be leaving..." He drew away from her again, attempting to pull his gaze away from the man in the bed and the family beside him. One of the sons rose to his feet. He looked hard at Dean, his mouth open, his expression questioning.

"I'll show myself out..." Dean whispered...his hopes on the floor once more. Another failed mission. And a blundering intrusion to a private family affair. But still, she pulled him back. A gentle insistence that he stay.

"Dean, wait, please, " she asked. Pleaded, almost. She placed a firm hand around his waist and gently guided him towards the bed and towards the old man. A sense of panic seemed to rise in him now. What was she doing? Who did she think he was? He seemed to stumble forward, his eyes resting on the old man's face. His eyes were open, paled and searching. Searching Dean's face, his hair, his height. Everything about him. The family moved back, allowing Dean's presence within the scene, all their eyes focussed on this stranger.

Dean glanced at the old man's face. He had strong features. A kindly face. A Grandfather's face. He was the Grandfather. Grandfather Winchester, no doubt. GW, as the little girl had said. The old man's mouth began to move. He cleared his throat, his steady gaze on Dean's face causing him to break eye contact. This was too much. What did they want from him? And then, he heard it.

"Dean," the old man said. Dean's eyes snapped back to him. To his face. To his eyes. "You're here, at last." He said. Dean stared at him now. Looking at the man, looking at his face. An old face. Weathered and wrinkled. Liver spots and lines. A furrowed brow. His eyes. His hazel eyes.

"Dean, it's me," he said, holding Dean's gaze. "It's Sam. You don't know... how long I have waited."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"Sam?" Dean whispered. He felt rooted to the spot. Numbed. No longer feeling. No longer hearing. Only looking at this man. This Sam that lay in a big old bed. This Sam with silver hair. Sam with crows feet at his eyes, and lines around his mouth. Sam as he would be, if events allowed. Sam as he should never be. Not yet.

"I waited for you," Sam said. "I told them," his eyes scanned the shocked faces of his...family.

Dean leaned forward, placed a hand onto the bed to steady himself, before sitting upon it. Beside Sam. Sam smiled.

"It's really me. "

A ghost of a smile crossed Dean's face as he shook his head. His eyes drifted down towards Sam's chest and arms, no longer full and muscled. Long slim fingers, calloused and scored. Working man's hands. Skin, once smooth and strong, now fragile and thin.

"God, what happened to you?" Dean asked. Sam's eyes flicked back up to the people standing behind Dean.

"Uh...Dean, these folks are my...my family." He watched as Dean looked back at them. The woman approaching Dean, extending her hand to him. He took it.

"Hi, I'm Louise...we've heard so much about you," she said softly. "And this is Michael, his son Christopher, and Jude here is my daughter and Mercy is Sam's great grand daughter...she's outside...I hope." She added. Michael and Christopher nodded politely. No questions, no why's or what for's...it was like this moment had always been expected. Something bound to happen. Something inevitable and unavoidable. Like Christmas.

Dean swung back towards Sam.

"Wow! How many did you have?"

"Four," Louise interrupted. "Mark is out of the country. James is travelling in from Colorado."

Dean scrubbed his face for a beat. Rested his head in his hands while trying to file this information. Form some sort of continuity to the situation. As he did this, Sam raised his hand and reached out towards Dean's shoulder...almost, almost touching him, before hesitating and pulling back.

"I've been everywhere, like there was nothing, no sign of you anywhere. Me and Bobby, we hit every town and city outside of that God forsaken place...we researched every damned spell and incantation we could to find out where you were, Sam, you gotta tell me what happened." He searched out Sam's gaze. "Do you remember what happened?"

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They were alone. The family had left the bedroom, promising a speedy return if they needed them. The aura of serene calm seemed to follow them as they went.

"It only came to me over the past year," Sam started.

"What did?"

"The realisation about who I am...or was." He lowered his gaze. "All those years ago...I just suddenly was. Livi said I was found in the hay field, in 1957, all beat up and passed out. Her Dad put me on the horse and brought me home. "

"Livi?"

"My wife." Sam frowned. "And...apparently, I worked hard and lived with the family, and married Livi, and took over the farm when her parents died. Had the kids, and grand kids, and worked the farm like a normal guy...until...last year, when I got sick. And all of a sudden, I just knew...like I new who I really was. I tried to tell them, my family...but they thought I was going demented, or something. " He snorted at the memory. "So did I."

"Amnesia?" Dean ventured.

"Dean, look at me. I'm 78, dude. " Dean sat back in surprise, suppressing a grin.

"I know. I can see...that you're old. But ...you're still just Sammy, to me," He explained. They maintained eye contact for a beat, before Dean looked away.

"I thought about the Trickster, but since I've been bed bound, I can't get out to find him...and I kept asking them to look for you and Bobby, but they just thought I was rambling...and hell, sometimes I was. I mean, I can't blame them."

"They seem like good people."

"They are." Sam confirmed. He pressed a bony hand against his chest and tried to cough. A wasted wheeze eminating from rattled bones, it seemed. "Dean?" he said, once he'd settled again.

"Yeah?"

"It sucks to be old, man." Sam managed a weak smile, that wasn't reflected in Dean's face.

"Sam. How can we...I mean, I don't know how to fix this..." he drifted off, suddenly pre occupied in his thoughts as to how to solve this problem. He stood up.

"If it's the Trickster then he'll be here, I mean, they just love to see the havoc they cause. There's got to be someone, someone that visits on occasion, someone you don't particularly like...you remember the little bastard, don't you...don't you?"

"That's just the thing, Dean," Sam began. "This place, this...haven and it's people...everyone's nice. Everyone's good, and helpful and considerate...there are no dicks in this place. It's like the entire town is...caught up in this, whatever it is." Sam closed his eyes, pushed his head back into the pillow, and opened them again to watch his brother pace the floor beside his bed.

"Then, we'll leave. We'll get out of town. We'll go now, it can eat our dust ." No answer. Dean turned to look back at Sam.

"We tried," Sam said softly. "When I first got sick, they tried to take me to the hospital, but I couldn't leave the farm. I couldn't breathe. The doctor came to see me here, said I was agoraphobic and the stress would be too much for my heart to make me leave, and this is where I've been ever since. I know I'm not agoraphobic...and I tried to tell them. This room..." He looked up at the ceiling. "This is where I'll die, I guess."

"No," Dean answered gently. "Don't say that. Whatever this is, we can figure it out."

"I don't think I have the time."

"We'll make time. " Dean sat beside Sam once more. "I...I can drive out of here to contact Bobby, he'll know what to do. Give us some ideas, at least. It's worth a shot, Sam."

Sam licked his lips and smiled. "Yeah. You're right. " Said with a dash of encouragement. Dean nodded.

"But," Sam began, "whatever this thing is, it might not let you back in, you know. "

"What?"

"We don't know how it works, Dean. But it knew I was aware and managed to stop me when I tried to leave. We...we have to consider it trying to block us somehow." Sam coughed again, a succession of wheezes rasping in his chest, almost bubbling under the surface. Dean leant over and cupped his hand around Sam's neck, and slid his hand down his back for him to sit up. His bony frame, once strong and agile, seemed stiffened and unmoveable against Deans chest as he supported his brother. Being this close to him then, made Dean's heart ache for the brother he once knew. The brother he had lost. The brother he was losing.

Sam's head fell back against the pillow, his eyes closed, as Dean gently positioned him as upright as possible. He was right, Dean thought. He hasn't got much time.

"Sam?" he whispered. "Look at me, Sam." And Sam opened his eyes. The light in the room seemed to accentuate the little thread veins around his nose and mouth.

"If...if I leave here and I can't get back," he began. He searched his brain for the right words to say.

"Then, just carry on." Sam answered softly.

"What?"

"Just get the hell outta dodge...and don't ...don't look back."

"Sam –" Dean could feel himself begin to crumble.

"I mean it. The way things have gone...my life here...and me getting to see you after all this time. How long I've waited for this...this moment. " Sam licked his lips. "At least...at least you know where I am...and you know what happened...and how much I missed you..." he trailed off. His eyelids falling over pale and watering eyes.

Dean swallowed back a sob. A single tear tracked it's way down his face and dropped onto the crisp white sheet beside Sam's hand.

"Is he asleep?" Louise's voice made Dean stand up. He wiped his face and cleared his throat.

"Yeah, he's...he's resting a while," Dean answered.

Louise approached Sam, and bent to kiss his forehead as she brushed a stray strand of hair from his face. She turned towards Dean, gently ushering him towards the door.

In the lounge, Christopher and Michael pulled back from an animated conversation that was quickly silenced at Dean's presence. Jude sat with arms crossed. The TV still silenced. Their sadness almost palpable. Jude stood up to leave, "I'll go sit with Gramps," she said quietly on her way past Louise and Dean. Louise made an effort to guide Dean towards the sofa.

Michael watched him sit down and leant towards Dean, before speaking.

"You've come for him, haven't you?" he said firmly. Dean blinked hard at the man.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Michael, don't – " Louise whispered. Michael answered her quickly.

"Louise, we have to accept..." Michael bent his head before continuing. "He's near the end...and...if this is how he wants to go, then, then we should help him." Christopher nodded in silent approval. Louise covered her mouth as if containing a scream.

"We know...we know something is wrong...with this place," Louise started to explain. Dean waited for her to elaborate. "It's this farm...this old house," she glanced around the lounge, "Even the barns...the land," she said.

"Everything grows, nothing fails here," Michael said. "It's like, this place demands perfection. A perfect business, a perfect family, a perfect life, with perfect children. "

"OK." Dean said.

"And when it gets what it wants, it doesn't let it go," Louise continued. "My mother couldn't leave the farm when it was her time either. "

"She had a terrible death," Michael shook his head at the memory. "It broke my father's heart."

Dean swallowed at the thought of Sam's grief. Grief he'd already lived through with Jess.

"Your mother...Livi ,wasn't born here, either?" Dean asked. Everyone shook their heads in silence.

"Our grandparents couldn't have children. And Livi...'appeared' here when she was only 10yrs old. " Michael explained. "Much like Sam did, 12 years later."

"This place needed the family to continue – and so it...acquired a young man from somewhere else," Louise said.

"And they had no memory of who they were?"

"Well, my Dad always knew his name. But my Mom, didn't start to remember until near the end of her life. And by then...by then, no one believed her enough to do anything about it." Michael finished.

"We thought she'd lost her mind...and...well, I'll never forgive myself for that," Louise wiped at her face, now dampened with tears.

"So, you already had the heads up when Sam started to tell you about the life he used to have." Dean said. Louise nodded in silence.

"He talked about demons and ghosts and tricksters and...well, we thought it was his mind going..." he rattled his hand against his own head. A gesture of madness.

"And he wanted you." Louise interrupted. "Kept asking us to find his brother. Kept telling us you'd know what to do. Well, as far as we knew he was an only child...we didn't believe him until, until you came."

"You have to leave and take him with you," Christopher blurted.

"But, he'll die if I take him away," Dean's mind, a jumble of questions upon questions.

"And he'll die here, if you don't!" Christopher snapped.

"We thought, maybe you could do it, Dean." Michael sounded hopeful.

"Do what?"

"Break through...whatever it is that's keeping him here." Christopher insisted.

Dean rubbed his hands through his hair. In his mind, he wanted to leave this place, with all it's endearing qualities and shiny perfections. To be able to speak to Bobby, to get some perspective on this situation. Maybe see it from another angle. Some clue, some theory that could save Sam from what looked like a certain death.

" I understand what you are saying, I do," Dean began. "But, in my world, Sam is only...he's only 29. And I want him back, with me and our job. I just need the time to work out what this...this thing is, then I might be able to avoid his death."

"You saw for yourself," Christopher shouted. "He's fading away!"

"But it could kill him, I don't want him to die."

"Neither do we," Michael simply stated. "We don't want to lose him either...but, it's wrong, what's happened...and we know the family will continue without him, just like this place seems to want. And we want him to live his...his real life." Michael lowered his gaze. "And maybe, maybe you can fix this by taking him away...it's worth a shot, isn't it?" He looked up at Dean, almost a child like expression of hope against adversity. Just like Sam used to do, in situations much like this.

Dean opened his mouth to answer...

"Mom?" Jude was suddenly in the room, her face in panic, searching for Louise. Christopher rose up to meet her.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"It's Grampa..." she cried.

*

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**OK, guys. Nearly wasn't gonna post this, 'cos it's not the most popular of stories going by the sparse reviews. You guys are a discerning lot. Seems I have to impress you further**.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi guys, well, thanks for following this one. My first chaptered fic. Quite daunting. Not sure I'll do another one, since the weight of your expectations can get...(gulp) a bit scary. Loved all your reviews though – big thanks for taking the time to write me. **

**Chapter 3 **

Dean could see the anguish in Judes face as she watched Louise head back through to the bedroom.

"He's sleeping…with his eyes open…it's weird…" she told Christopher. Dean walked passed them all and into the bedroom.

Louise leaned over Sam, smoothing his brow. His eyes were half opened, his breathing steady but wet, like moisture was collecting in his airway. His palor grey. He seemed lifeless.

Christopher tugged at Deans jacket.

"Go on, you have to take him,"

"What? Now?" Dean breathed, his heart beating somewhere near his throat at the sight before him.

"Yes, now!" Christopher snapped back. "Dad, tell him."

"But, what if he…what if he dies?" Dean reached for the bed post, to steady himself.

"He'll die anyway – but if you can get him out of here, then maybe…maybe…"

"Maybe it'll break whatever it is that's made him like this," Michael added.

He turned to Dean. "He's right. You have to try. And if he dies, well…at least he'll be with you."

Dean nodded, suddenly fortified by their combined determination. "OK, someone get out to the car and open the back doors. I'll need a hand here," he said as he approached his brother.

"Louise," Dean began. "I'm gonna take him now." Louise nodded, her eyes wet with tears. She suddenly leaned over and kissed Sam's forehead, twice…three times, before moving back to let Dean and Michael in.

They sat Sam up, his head lolling backwards, and swung him round to sit at the side of the bed. With Michael supporting Sam's back, Dean bent down and rolled Sam onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry. As he did this, the room darkened, as if the sun had suddenly dimmed. Michael glanced out of the window.

"It's the storm!" he exclaimed.

"The what?"

Michael shook his head. "Doesn't matter, just get him into the car and keep driving, drive until you get out of this town," He watched Dean move quickly and smoothly through the hall and into the lounge, Sam's arms swinging limply at his back.

"It'll get darker…like really scary," Christopher shouted after them. "That happened last time."

Dean made his way down the steps, a sudden gust of wind making him gasp along with the effort of carrying Sam. Dark clouds had suddenly amassed and the horizon dipped into a magenta haze that warned of darker things to come. He stumbled on the uneven ground, but Michael was there to catch him, a steadying arm to guide him back up straight again.

Jude's high pitched voice shouted for Mercy to come back to her. She saw the child and rushed to pick her up from her bike.

Michael helped Dean manoeuvre Sam into the back seat, his legs bending stiffly so they could close the door. Before he closed his side, Michael bent down briefly and kissed Sam's forehead. "Bye, Dad," he whispered. "Thanks for everything." He looked up at Dean and nodded.

"Keep driving, Dean!" he shouted above the wind. "No matter what, don't stop!" His voice a mere wail in the distance. Leaves and twigs battered onto the car now, as Dean fought to close his door and he glanced back at Sam. His head turned towards Dean, his eyes still half closed. His bony chest still rising and falling with the effort it took to keep breathing.

Dean turned the engine over and she growled into life. A half smile covered his lips as he gripped the wheel and pulled away from the farmhouse. Things were hardly ideal, but at least he had Sam back in the car with him, and he'd break through this...this spell, if it was the last thing he did.

By the end of the drive, the car was being buffeted by giant gusts of wind, rain and hailstones battered off the roof and hood, the noise almost deafening. Squinting into the darkness ahead, Dean swung the car out into the main road – the hailstones forming an icy surface for the wheels to negotiate. The wind screen wipers squealed in protest, the ice building up from the hood, the engine revving as Dean skidded and swung out with every gust of wind that assailed them.

"Come on!" Dean growled at the car, white knuckles on the steering wheel, his head snapping back to glance at Sam in the back seat. "Just a another mile, come on!" The car lurched forward, winding and sliding across the road, Dean pulling at the wheel wildly to keep her straight. Then the lights went out. Darkness. Hail, wind, debris and accumulating ice. And darkness.

"No!" Dean screamed as the car lost it's traction, it's engine revving in defiance. The car merely rolled to a stop. The noise beating into Dean's brain and mind.

It was winning, he thought. Whatever it was, it wasn't letting them leave. He had lost. Lost Sam. Lost everything. For a beat, he stared into the blackness of the raging storm.

Then he turned around and clambered over into the back seat, and slid down into the foot well. He lifted Sam gently and slid himself behind his brother, Sam's head and shoulders on his chest. He couldn't see Sam anymore. He couldn't hear his breath.

But he could feel his warmth. His weight against his legs and chest, and as the noise of the storm seemed to rise in intensity, he lowered his head and tried to cover his brother as he lay there in the dark. He thought about Sam's family back at the farm. Hoping that Dean had made it. That he had broken through the spell. Michael had been right. At least they were together.

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Light.

Brightness. Shining brightness.

And heat. Not a comforting, warming heat. An airless, sticky, stifling heat. The kind you get in an enclosed space on a hot, sunny day.

Dean opened his eyes to stripes. Pale green and blue stripes on cotton cloth. He pulled back, his eyes trying to focus. On his lap with his head fallen back, lay Sam. Serene, at peace...and young again. No wrinkles, no liver spots. Brown thick hair and fully formed muscles. Dean blinked hard.

"Sam? Sam...hey..." Dean shook his shoulders gently. A hand behind his head, lifting up his face. Sam inhaled suddenly, dark hazel eyes blinking open. He turned to look up at his brother.

"You did it. It worked." He whispered.

"Yeah," Dean returned in disbelief. "It worked." He lifted his head and glanced around the car. They were on a deserted road. At an angle, almost in the middle of it. Sam sat up and swung round to sit beside his brother. He looked down at himself. His hands. His striped pyjamas. He reached for the door handle and stepped out into the road.

Dean had moved the car, had examined the hood and the roof for dents. There was nothing. Her body was as smooth and as sleek as ever. Around them the country side seemed as normal. No hints of debris or excess water that a storm would bring. He glanced back at Sam, standing a little way back up the road, barefoot and still in his pyjamas. He followed his gaze up onto a distant hill. The farmhouse.

"I can never go back," Sam said, as soon as he became aware of Dean standing beside him.

"Well, I wouldn't want to risk it," Dean ventured. He frowned at Sam's sadness. Flipping out his phone, he handed it to him. "See if it works," he said quietly.

Sam looked down at the phone in his hand and frowned. He pressed a few buttons and then hesitated for a beat.

"No." He whispered. "I can't remember the number...it's...it's..." Dean took the phone from him and slipped it back into his pocket again. He raised an arm and placed a hand at the nape of Sam's neck.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Let's get out of here ."

With a nod, Sam slowly turned back towards the car.

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Mercy's little legs worked the pedals of her bike furiously as she built up some speed on her way up to the barn. On the slight incline she slowed to a stop, smiling to herself at her achievement. Every day, in every way, she was getting faster. She looked out over the countryside, and in the distance, she could see a black car, it's tyres picking up dust as it sped across the horizon. Shining and sleek, she could make out it's shape, and another little half smile crossed her lips.

With a swipe of her foot, she turned the bike around and stood on the pedals hard so that the bike rolled down the incline for one more spin.

"Granma!" she hollered at the top of her voice. "Graaan-maaaaa!"

** The End**


End file.
